


Careful Control is a Fine Line to Walk

by Bam-Bi (NightFaeChild9), NightFaeChild9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental summoning, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bullying, Canonical Child Abuse, Contracts, Death, Demonic Possession, Demons, Fluff, Friendship, Harry carries a doll with him and it's kind of cute~, I'm not sure about the title yet, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Neglect, Language, Manipulation, Violence, Witchcraft, Work In Progress, not THIS time, or the summary...Sometimes I'm good with those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFaeChild9/pseuds/Bam-Bi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFaeChild9/pseuds/NightFaeChild9
Summary: Left alone at the Dursley’s one half of the summer while they go on vacation, seven year old Harry Potter finds a rather peculiar board game stored away in the attic and decides to play…The consequences are far reaching and permanent.





	Careful Control is a Fine Line to Walk

They left him.

Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised; They did this every year, at least _twice_ a year, since he came to live with them 5 and a half years ago.

 

Literally left on the Dursley’s front doorstep in the dead of a chilly night when he was only a little over a year and a half old, Harry grew up with his maternal aunt and her husband believing that his parents were alcoholics who got themselves killed. He’d never learned their names, despite asking on several occasions, but he tried not to care anymore.  
Iit was only 4 days ago, one week after his seventh birthday, that his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had decided to tell him the truth: He was unwanted and unloved--- abandoned by his birth parents who, while still alcoholics, were most certainly alive. They hadn't wanted the responsibility of raising a child. Had not wanted _him._ So, after he'd earned a nasty gash on his forehead that later scarred over, they'd finally made the wise decision of leaving him in the capable hands of Petunia and Vernon. “As well as they should have, drunks and neglectful “parents” that they were.” Aunt Petunia had concluded, a sneer fixed on her face.

 

All the same, Harry _knew_ that he was still unwanted even in her household.

 

Despite having three well-sized bedrooms on the second floor of their home, Harry was kept in the small, dark and dusty cupboard under the stairs while his aunt and uncle shared one, and Dudley, his cousin, was allowed to keep two (one for him, and one for his numerous toys). The only time Harry slept elsewhere was when either the Dursley's had company, and he'd be moved to the basement, or he was being punished and was made to sleep in the cold and filthy shed outdoors (usually on rainy or particularly cold days).

Add to this that he was only allowed to eat the bare minimum of food needed to survive, plus the endless list of chores while Dudley never had to lift a finger, and Harry figured out pretty fast just how unwelcome he was.

He was not a part of this family.

 

Even still, knowing all this as intimately as one could, it didn't stop him from feeling hurt each time they left him. At least twice a year, once during Christmas and once during the Summer break, the Dursley's would leave Harry behind. Usually, he was left with Ms.Figg nextdoor who was his regular “watcher” but, this year, he was apparently old enough to be left inside the house alone.

Ms. Figg was in the hospital for one reason or another that the Dursley's didn't care to mention, and the Dursley's didn't care enough to pay anyone to babysit him. (Ms.Figg had always watched over him for free.)

 

So, with the simple instruction to “only eat the bread and canned beans in the cupboard above the stove,” and “Don't skip out on any of your chores, we'll inspect when we get back to make sure you weren't lazing about!”, seven year old Harry was left alone, able to do virtually anything he pleased so long as the house was spotless when his “family” came back from their two-week vacation...

 

The first few days were fun.

 

He'd eaten his fill of bread the first night--- had even _dared_ to toast it and spread a thin layer of butter on it (like the Dursley's would even remember that small detail); And, on the second, he’d indulged himself and ate two slices of plain bread as well as an _entire_ can of cold and watery-syruppy beans instead of the half he was usually given. He even skipped half his chores, though he did all the major ones within the house just in case the Dursley's returned early.

 

On the third night, Harry had slept in _Dudley's_ bed. The mattress was soft and spongy and had sucked him right in. He didn't like it; But the sheets and comforter had been fluffy and warm. He loved that.

The fourth night, Harry braved himself and slept at the foot of his aunt's and uncle's bed, on top of the sheets. It was cold, but not nearly as much as his cupboard, or the basement, and certainly not as cold as the shed. Their mattress was more rigid than Dudley's. Similar to his own cot, actually. He thought he might grow to like it.

 

The fifth day, however, Harry was bored. He'd completed his chores, and things had _stayed_ clean, miraculously, though he supposed it was only because there was no one to intentionally ruin it.

He'd gone over everything thrice, in detail, but was now left with nothing to do. He wasn't allowed to play with any of Dudley's toys, new or old; and even if he had the courage to do so, he didn't even know how to go about it. Despite watching Dudley and his friends, playing was a foreign concept to him. He didn't know _how._ And wasn't that a sad thought?

The one time he'd taken a tiny toy-soldier that Dudley wouldn't miss, he'd kept it in his cupboard and pulled it out long after everyone else was asleep. He'd moved the plastic arms and legs around, had made quiet sound effects to go with his imagination but….it hadn't felt right. It was awkward and weird, and he felt silly for even thinking of trying to play.

He still kept it, of course, under his pillow, but he only ever spoke with it, just as he spoke to the spiders in the corners of his ceiling.

The tiny soldier had turned into a...confidant for him, in a way. Something he could spill all his secrets and thoughts to without worry of them being used against him, or somehow getting out to others.

 

But the toy soldier couldn't help him with his boredom right now.

 

Harry wanted to _explore._ He wasn't allowed outdoors, in case the neighbors noticed that he was home alone and asked questions, but Harry was fine with that, for the most part. He enjoyed gardening, but was grateful for one less thing to do on his list of chores. Besides that, it was nice to avoid Dudley's gang of juvenile bullies for half a month.

All the same, he needed _something_ to do…

 

They had an attic but he wasn't typically allowed to be up there. Occasionally, Vernon or Petunia had him go up to fetch something for them, but he had never really been allowed to peruse through the various sealed boxes. Only shuffle them around a bit to sweep the gathered dust from around them.

 

Making his decision, Harry walked to the kitchen and pulled first the utensil drawer open, then the miscellaneous drawer. Grabbing a small paring knife he planned to use for opening the boxes, he also made sure to take the packing tape with him so he could reseal them. This way, the Dursley's would never know of his bold disobedience.

 

Feeling a little smug in his intelligent foresight and planning, he walked with rare confidence up the stairs of the second floor, making only one quick stop to the living room where he took the stepping stool that he generally used for his chores (to reach the higher spots, like bookshelves or preparing dinner).

Using the stool and standing on the very tips of his toes, he reached for the ceiling rope that pulled down the stairs leading up to the attic, then made his way up.

Although it was mid-day, the air was damp with humidity, and the path was dark with the lack of windows and mild clutter surrounding the limited natural sources of light; He wasn't scared though. The Dursley's made him come up here alone often enough and, besides that, he basically _lived_ in darkness--- considering the amount of time he spent in his cupboard.

 

If anything, he half considered it to be _better_ than his cupboard.

 

As dark as it was, he knew that it was rather spacious from his previous “visits”; and he loved the somewhat high, slanted ceiling which gave the room a triangular shape. It was dusty to the point that he always avoided touching anything unnecessarily, but it lacked the near wet and musky scent that he’d grown used to smelling while in his cupboard.

The air was dry and crisp in the colder months, and was suffocatingly humid in the summer, but it was never wet --- unlike the shed outside; And despite the stacked boxes, the space was bright and sunny in the mornings and even allowed a thin stream of moonlight in when the moon was positioned in just the right spot...Very different from the basement.

 

If he'd had a say in where he would be staying in the house, he might've picked the attic (it even had the bonus of being fairly detached from the Dursleys, as no one ever came up here if they could help it).

 

Harry paid no mind to the first pile of stacked boxes, knowing from past experiences of visits from Dudley’s Aunt Marge or Petunia’s occasional gathering with the neighbourhood gossips, that they were all filled with nostalgic items for the Dursley family: old music records, letters from past friends and deceased or distant family, and Dudley's old baby clothes and toys.

Moving further inwards, Harry passed by more brown boxes which were covered in an even, thick layer of dust. They were labeled as “Aunt Petunia's” and, when he opened them, he discovered a white wedding dress with flower-patterned lace for the long sleeves, high neckline, and the trim at the bottom of the dress.

He'd seen it before in the picture frame hanging on the wall at the front entrance and knew that, while it was the prettiest he'd ever seen his Aunt Petunia, it was a rather hideous thing to wear.

Under the mass of clothing, he found a rich brown coloured photo album labeled **_Late 70’s- Early 80’s_ **that he’d never seen before, and leafed through the laminated pages slowly, taking his time examining the various pictures of his Aunt, Uncle, Cousin and, curiously, a faceless girl.

 

It wasn’t that she didn’t _have_ a face, of course, but that someone had taken a permanent marker, or a pen in some cases, and had gone through every photo in the book and scratched her face or entire torso out of each and every one of them. Methodically. Dutifully.

Several pictures of his aunt and a black mass of scribbles beside her, early in the album all with his aunt’s tiny, curled handwriting labeling them as 70 to 74, before tapering out to _just_ Petunia, or Petunia and Vernon.

 

Out of all the photos, the last was the only one he found where he could make out any distinctive features: Shoulder-length wavy, flaming red hair, a glimpse of pale skin for forehead, and one gleaming green eye peering back at him through the darkness of ink and thick lashes. She wore a white dress that configured to her upper body, but flared gently from the waist and ended at her knees. The loose sleeves were long and cinched at her wrist, and a fake flower hung at the base of her throat right where the collar of her dress ended.  
She was beautiful, Harry decided and, mysteriously compelled, he took the photo out of its careful plastic cover and examined it closer. On the back, it had someone else’s handwriting. **_Lily E. ‘74_ ** , it read.

He pocketed it carefully in the back pocket of his jeans. Considering the amount of dust that had covered the box before he’d opened it, he didn’t think Petunia would miss it any time soon.

 

Moving along, he came across one picture of his aunt and uncle both, labeled “ **_Junior Prom ‘76_ ** ”: Petunia was wearing a simple long baby blue dress held up by thin straps over her shoulders, and the hem falling to her ankles. A layer of softly pleated material layered over her chest loosely, though the main piece clung to her body comfortably. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was layered and fell in waves and curls to frame her face in odd flips, but, even in the grainy photo, it looked glossy and polished.  
A young man who looked suspiciously similar to a considerably thinner Vernon with more hair on his head and less on his upper lip stood beside her, arms wrapped around her waist in his matching baby blue suit and black bowtie with a frilled white dress shirt underneath. They wore matching corsages of what Harry recognized as daisies and baby’s breath---Petunia’s tied to her wrist with a blue ribbon.  
Harry couldn’t really tell from the photo, grainy as it was, but he thought that they both looked younger. Pretty, even, with less lines surrounding their eyes and mouth, and the ever present crease that furrowed Petunia’s brow into a scowl absent.

There were several similar photos, all taken from different angles and moments: Vernon and Petunia looking at the camera, looking somewhere off to the side as if talking to someone, looking at each other….And when they gazed at each other in the photo, it was with so much singular love that Harry longed for it himself. Not from them, maybe (he’d decidedly given up on that a while ago), but maybe from someone in his future.

 

A pretty girl he could love and be loved by.

 

Idly, Harry wondered if his parents were ever as happy as them...Then he quickly shook himself from the thought. Why did he care if they were happy? They left him. Not actually dead, just gone. Because they hadn’t wanted him…

 

Mood suddenly dampened, Harry resealed the box and prepared to leave the attic when another box sitting on a high shelf caught his eye. **_Board Games_ ** , it read. “ _Games…_.” he breathed, eyes wide and hopeful. Those were just what he needed to fix his boredom.

 

He walked over to the shelf and stood on his tiptoes, fingers stretching and reaching for the box above his head. His fingertips scratched at the base of the box until he could grip it and inch it forward until it started to fall towards his face. Quickly, he rearranged his hands so that they were cupping the edge of the box while shielding his face. He maneuvered it so that it lay more comfortably in his arms and he could hug it against his chest, then lowered himself to the floor, the box landing on the floor of the attic with a dull _thump_.

The dust dislodged from the box and the shelf above fell around him and he had a brief sneezing fit before it finally settled and he was left sniffing and rubbing his nose against the shoulder of his t-shirt.

 

“Let’s see what’s inside you.” Harry murmured to the empty room, brushing the remaining dust off the top of the box. Grabbing the paring knife from his front jeans pocket and gripping the green handle firmly, he cut into the tape that kept the box closed.

Inside lay several smaller boxes of varying sizes and colours and even shapes. A tall circular one read _Jenga_ on the front in big, blocky letters. A long, red rectangular box read _Scrabble_ , another said _Yahtzee_ , a yellow one with a picture of a grinning cartoonified mouse said _MouseTrap_ ; There was even one that had _Twister_ written on its front and it showed people contorting their bodies in strange positions: Various body parts tangled together and pressing on different coloured circles on a white mat, backs arched in a way that looked uncomfortable and strenuous. Harry couldn’t imagine his rigid relatives playing such a game and, when he forced himself to picture it, he could only see Vernon’s heavy and moderately large body snapping Petunia’s twig-ish body in two.

 

He took each game out of their boxes and examined all the pieces and components to them. Read their directions, set them up, rolled dice and moved tiny plastic mice...It was and wasn’t how he thought it would be. Again, his experience with toys was limited and awkward, and this unfortunately seemed to extend to board games as well; But all the times he’d seen Dudley and his parents playing games in the past, flipping cards and rolling dice, they’d always had large smiles and bright eyes. He should have known, but he wasn’t able to feel any of that joy up here, alone, in the dark attic.

 

In the end, he was only able to find two games that appealed to him as a single player: A jigsaw puzzle box with a picture of a cute dog taking a nap under a blanket, and a white box with a black cover that read _Ouija_ across the top.

Inexplicably, Harry felt his stomach twist nervously and his heart rate increase at the sight of the game--- not fast, but thudding hard and steady against his ribs. He felt...nervous, yes, but also excited. Like when you went too high on the swings and didn’t know whether to slow to a stop or pump your legs harder and see if it was actually possible to go all the way around without falling off.

Needless to say, it certainly caught his interest.

Two pairs of hands held a white, flat triangle piece with a hole in its center over a board with the alphabet scrawled on it, **Yes** and **No** written at the top on opposite sides with a sun and moon belonging to them respectively, and the word _Goodbye_ written across the bottom.

Opening the box and reading the instructions, as he’d done with every other game, he realized that, while the game looked mildly ominous, it was meant for children ages 8 and up (close enough to his age) but was meant for two players...Still, it didn’t seem like it was necessary to have more than one person---only recommended.

The summarized description for the game was simultaneously intriguing and dull:

_“Pronounced WEE-JA, the Ouija® Board_

_has always been a mysterious and mystifying._

_Ask it a question, and it will respond_

_by spelling out your answer_

_in the window of the Message Indicator (Planchette)_

**_Look Into The Future._ **

**_Have fun!_ **

**_And Remember, The Ouija® Board Is Just A Game_ **

**_….Or Is It?_ ** _”_

Asking questions to an inanimate object didn’t seem like a fun way to pass the time, and asking anything other than “Is it to your liking?” to the Dursleys had always been unacceptable, but he’d always been a curious child. Besides, what was the harm is asking a game board a few questions? At worst, nothing would respond back and, at best, he’d receive answers and discover something exciting and new.

 

Deciding to give it a go, Harry read the play instructions and set up the board and all its pieces (minimal as they were) in the center of the attic, which was the only sufficiently clear area on the ground. He paused only once to run downstairs and grab a pen and one of Petunia’s numerous notebooks which she’d collected over the years, but never used. He couldn’t remember _why_ she’d felt the need to hoard them, but was thankful nonetheless.  
He didn’t have a partner to take notes for him on whatever letters the planchette (the odd-looking triangle from before) singled out, but..well, it couldn’t be that hard to do both jobs.

 

Back upstairs, he settled on the floor with his legs folded under him, and placed two fingers on the base of the planchette while keeping his other hand ready to take notes. He didn’t have any one particular thing he wanted to ask or know about, so he made a simple decision to ask an easy question, and then follow whatever came next.

He began.

**Author's Note:**

> The italicized synopsis for the Ouija Board Game is taken from 2001 Hasbro (which I found online here: https://www.hasbro.com/common/instruct/Ouija_Board_(2001).pdf )
> 
> I considered making this chapter longer and just doing the seance and ending the chapter after that, but I became interested in something at the last moment.
> 
> So, my question to the people who took the time to read the first chapter, and this author's note is:  
> What questions would you like for Harry to ask?
> 
> And, on that note:  
> Is there anything in particular you wanted to see in the next chapter?
> 
> I can't guarantee that I'll fit it in somehow, as I do have the basic outline of the first few chapters written...but it's not set in stone and I am open to suggestion~
> 
> And on an entirely separate note: For those reading DHMIS (which will definitely be renamed), I have not abandoned it in the slightest. I decided to flesh out the outline a bit more and, now that I have nearly the entire story mapped out, you can expect more chapters sometime soon.
> 
> ALSO: If anyone is interested in Lily's photo I referenced, and Petunia's hairstyle, just ask.


End file.
